


get to the front (i'm gonna show you)

by leocantus



Series: red light fix [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leocantus/pseuds/leocantus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a tough job, but someone has to do it</p>
            </blockquote>





	get to the front (i'm gonna show you)

Some days living the superhero lifestyle is like being a member of a cult. It's only when Sam remembers to come up for air that it hits him how out-of-this-world nuts his life is. He keeps a line to the outside for this exact reason, makes sure to keep up with his friend and family, to spend time at his day job at the VA so that he doesn't end up completely consumed by it.

Sam's thinking longingly of his job at the VA right now as he, Steve, and the others trudge back into to the compound at ass o'clock in the morning, only just returning from their call out of the compound a full 24 hours ago. The fighting had been strung out for the better part of the day, on nothing but 'Go', full throttle, because any time they weren't someone else could pay the price. Each hour he'd been in flight had stretched out into eternity, and Sam's exhaustion is a weight around his neck, tied to his ankles, with only the thought of his bed has gotten him this far. He waves goodbye to the others somewhere between the entrance and his bedroom door, or at least he thinks he does, but Sam's not even sure he's still alive right now so the details aren't really clear. He and Steve had spent most of the journey back deep in fantasy of a firm bed and a soft blanket, and the prospect of not moving again for approximately a week, but now that he's finally crossed the threshold into his room he feels almost paralysed, mind stuck in a loop, not knowing what to do first.

Steve has no such issue, already struggling out of his Captain America outfit, and that seems to jump start Sam's brain. Boots, pants, armour, and t-shirt are all dropped to the ground like breadcrumbs in a trail that leads to his bed. Sam would spare a thought for poor Steve in his tight armour and stripper boots but the mere effort of stripping down to his boxers is enough to wipe out what little energy he has left and Sam falls into bed exhausted. Minutes or millennia later Steve lands face down on top of him, and with a grunt, Sam lifts his arms for Steve to fit himself into. It's not too long after that that they're both fast asleep.

He wakes up hard, and he's surprised he even has the energy for that given that he seriously contemplated sleeping at the foot of the stairs last night because the thought of having to climb them to reach his bed was almost too much, but the body wants what it wants he guesses. He's about to escape out from under his boyfriend -- because Steve either doesn't know what personal space means or hasn't worked out how sharing works (or maybe it's because he doesn't want Sam to leave; whichever it is, Sam loves every minute of it) -- when Steve's hand shifts across his stomach and the back of his hand bumps against his dick before disappearing into his boxers to draw it out. Sam bites his lip against a gasp, going from 'morning wood' to 'helplessly turned on' in his shortest time yet, and says, a little breathlessly, "I thought you were sleeping in today."

Steve, giving up on his pretence of sleep, presses a kiss to the skin under his cheek, just above Sam's nipple, and then another one higher, on his collarbone, and then his neck, his jaw, until he's nuzzling his cheek and sucking Sam's lower lip into his mouth, teasing his mouth open, and Sam loses himself for a couple of seconds in the kiss and the way Steve grips his dick, nice and easy. Steve breaks the kiss, and Sam's only a little smug at the way he sounds a little breathless himself when he says, "And miss out on this?"

He rolls his hips into Steve's hand, his whole body trying to fit itself as close as possible to Steve's, and says, "Well, maybe I wanna have a lie-in myself."

"Oh, well in that case," Steve says, loosening his grip like he's gonna slide his hand away again, and Sam knows, _knows_ , he's being played but Steve's got his thumb right _there_ and it's shooting sparks of pleasure through him, up and down his spine, and he's not ready to give that up. 

"But," he continues, hand on Steve's wrist to keep him in place, like he has any chance in hell of keeping Steve anywhere he doesn't want to be, and he can feel the smirk that Steve's pressing against his cheek. "for you I can make an exception."

"Sweet talker," Steve says, rubbing his cheek against Sam's and shivering at the burr of his beard, "I bet you say that to everyone."

Sam laughs into their next kiss, smiling too much to give Steve's mouth the attention it deserves. "Don't go spreading it around though; might hurt someone's feelings."

Steve does pull his hand away then, but Sam doesn't have a chance to make any of the sad, mournful noises he wants to make because Steve slings a leg over his thighs and perches on his lap instead, bringing up his hand to suck off the spot of precome that Sam had left there and the sight is so gut-punchingly hot that Sam forgets how to speak for a moment, desire twisting viciously inside him.

Steve looks gorgeous sitting there anyway, grin both lewd and delighted, flush already beginning its slow creep down over his chest, boxers distended obscenely by his cock, the shape only hinting at the thickness of his erection, and Sam has a sudden flash of _I've had that in my mouth_ that turns the heat in his stomach molten, a flash-fire of desire. Sam brings his hands up to rest on Steve's waist, steadying him, because if he doesn't he's gonna reach for Steve's dick instead, and says hoarsely, "Got anything specific in mind?"

Steve rolls his hips once, bringing his cloth covered erection into contact with the bare skin of Sam's own, and they groan in tandem, a deep, vibrating noise, and then Sam is pushing up and Steve is leaning down and they're kissing again, deeply, urgently, bodies straining to get closer, Steve dragging his mouth over Sam's in a way that's proof of all the practice they've had together, his hands cupping Sam's jaw, and the pleasure stretches out between them, thick as syrup and twice as sweet. 

The kiss slows down but the urgency doesn't, especially when Steve says between kisses, breathed into the scant space between their lips, "What was it you said? Gonna push me hands and knees onto the bed and fuck me?" because Sam's mind flashes back to that night a week or so ago, where it was nothing but skin and sweat and Sam coming hard between Steve's thighs, and the bottom of his stomach drops out, arousal twisting sharply through him when he thinks about the fact that Steve has been thinking about it too ever since.

The next kiss is nothing but tongue and teeth, Steve trying to grind Sam into the mattress. Sam slides his hands down to cup his ass, holding Steve _right there_ so he can thrust up against him and Steve drags his mouth across his jaw, scoring his teeth against his skin. "You know," he continues, placing sucking kisses up and down Sam's throat, "if you're not too tired." Sam shudders and arches beneath him, Steve having zeroed in on his zero-to-sixty-in-point-two-seconds spot like the tactician he is, and they end up not saying much of anything for the next couple of minutes. 

Steve finally skins out of his boxers and Sam discards his somewhere too, and then they're back to kissing, Steve stretched out beneath him, and if Sam maybe spends some time handling Steve a bit -- hands trailing a path over his shoulders and chest that his mouth follows, biting and tugging at his nipples until they're red and sore, and every brush of his hands makes Steve moan, high and breathless -- no one would blame him.

"Sam, please." Steve's legs are spread wide, feet planted on the bed, and Sam fits himself between Steve's thighs like he'd been made to fill the space. Steve's dick lies thick against his stomach, pools of precome already dotting his abs and Sam loves, _loves_ how wet Steve gets, the come he streaks everywhere the more turned on he gets and Sam wets his hand in it before wrapping his hand around Steve's dick. Steve's sigh is almost orgasmic, and his knees close in around Sam, keeping him locked in place, as he twists and arches against Sam, making these urgent don't-stop noises and Sam spends his time slicking his fingers through the come welling up, playing with the head, jacking him slowly, mouth tugging at his nipples until Steve curses -- a crisp "Fuck," between breathless moaning, reddened chest heaving -- and comes all over himself.

It barely seems to take the edge off. Steve dick is still half hard under his hand and getting harder, and the next kiss Steve tugs him into is frantic, hands clutching at his back, sliding down into the dip at the small of his back, over the swell of his ass, digging in as though Sam needs any encouragement to grind against him, to nudge his dick up against Steve's, the motion eased by how much Steve had just come. But still Sam shudders, bites at Steve's lower lip, the drag and friction against his cock so good it's like sparks going off in his head. He lets himself rut against Steve for a moment before pulling himself back in increments, knowing that unlike his boyfriend, if he comes it's gonna be game over for a while, and Sam likes to make good on his promises.

He's grinning when they part, and Steve lets his head drop back onto the bed with a groan, a grin of his own on his reddened lips.

"Better?" Sam says, a little sly, hands massaging at Steve's sides, and Steve laughs breathlessly, hitching Sam up by the grip he has on his ass in a way that makes Sam's eyes shudder shut at the little shocks of pleasure.

"It's a start," Steve says -- petulantly, if there ever was a word to describe it -- and Sam wonders if he's unleashed some kind of monster, the way Steve's sex drive went from zero to I-need-it-now in no time flat. Wonders, briefly, how Steve's been dealing since they hadn't really had the chance to be together since the first time because everything started happening at once, and is hit with the image of Steve, flat out on his bed, slick with sweat and come, one large hand wrapped around his dick, thighs straining as he jacks himself hard and fast, his other hand between his legs, easing a finger inside himself, and Sam sucks in a breath, want red hot in the pit of his stomach, and god, Sam could burn up just from the thought of it.

"Yeah," he says, and damn if his voice isn't a little hoarse, "I know how much you need it." He reaches across Steve, planting a kiss on the corner where his smile curls upwards (and then another, and another, and one more because Steve's mouth on his, his hands flexing on his ass, is the best distraction), to grab a condom and the bottle of lube -- half empty by the feel of it -- and drops them onto the bed next to his leg.

"Someone's been busy," he says, teasing, and Steve grin is equal parts bashful and shameless, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar: embarrassed to be caught but not regretting it one bit.

"It's been a _week_ ," Steve says, plaintively, and Sam's head bows under the force of his laughter.

"Alright," he soothes, hand rubbing over Steve's chest, his stomach, his grin a response to the dirty look Steve shoots him. "Alright, I got you."

Steve breathing hitches when Sam pushes his thighs apart, one knee to his chest, and his whole body rocks into it when Sam slicks up and eases a finger inside him, gives a breathless "Yes," when one finger becomes two -- because Steve's body yielded almost immediately, all soft and open, and Sam can tell that Steve's been practising, and he has to stop and ride out that boiling rush of heat that thought gives him because otherwise he's going to come, untouched, with two fingers buried in Steve's ass -- and clenches his fists in the sheets, fucking himself back onto those fingers with a sharp snap of his hips.

"Sam-- fuck, come on, I need--" His words crack and fracture as Sam nudges a third finger up alongside the other two, fucks him steadily with them, mouth sucking kisses along his inner thigh, and Steve is writhing now, twisting back and forth on the sheets in aborted half motions as he tries to get more -- harder, faster, deeper -- his dick dripping steadily onto his abs. He only goes for it once after Sam slaps his hand away the first time, and Steve's groan is heartfelt, consoling himself with a hand on his chest instead, twisting and plucking at his red red nipples, the other hand still holding his knee to his chest, keeping himself nice and open for Sam.

He rewards him with a twist of his wrist, fingers crooked slightly and thrusting in deep, and Steve gasps and gasps and gasps his name, coming again. Sam swallows, breathes deep, and miserably reins in his own orgasm, wanting to be able to give it to Steve the way he needs it before letting go. He pulls his fingers out and fumbles for a condom while Steve sinks into the bed, that second orgasm finally enough to take the edge off for him, rolls it on and slicks his own dick. His hands are trembling a little as he lifts one of Steve's thighs with one and positions his dick with the other, and then it's the slow slide inside, nothing but heat and pressure, Steve's body wanting him the same way his hands clutch at him and Sam's control is just about ironclad right now because otherwise it's gonna be over real quick.

Steve's panting, body wrecked in a way he never is when they're out running, and Sam's much the same way, groaning, pained, the pleasure like lava in his veins as he draws back and then drives back in, and the noises Steve is making, the mindless sounds of pleasure, are absolutely criminal -- needy sounds to go with the legs around his waist and the hands on his shoulders that drag him back in every time he pulls back as though Steve can't bear for there to be any space between them.

Steve is a furnace at any given time, outputting heat like it's his sole job in the world, but now it's like dipping into the sun, the air between them scorched, their bodies slick now with sweat and come, and Steve tugs him down into another kiss, biting at his lip, licking his way into his mouth, and then tearing away just to draw in deep gulps of air only to do it all over again.

Sam's thighs are trembling, but his hitches Steve's leg for a better angle as he ruts against him, and he must have hit payload because Steve's whole body jerks right down to his cock, a heavy sway against his stomach that causes more come to well up and spill over, and then suddenly Sam's been shoved down onto his back, held down by Steve's hand on his chest as he rises up over Sam, reaches back and grinds himself back down onto Sam's dick with a desperate groan.

"Fuck, Sam," Steve says, as Sam's hips snap upwards, unable to keep still because Steve's body is a dream, opened up around his dick so nicely, and Sam's body feels out of his control. "Right-- right there, please, just, _fuck_ \--" He's riding Sam hard, pinning Sam in place with just one hand -- which is so hot that Sam thinks his brain is about to leak out his ears -- as though there's feasibly somewhere else on this planet that Sam would want to be at this moment, and making these high, breathy noises each time Sam slams home, hips rolling in this filthy grind, and Sam's done, he's there, okay, he's definitely not gonna last much longer.

He lifts one hand, which had been resting on Steve's hips, fingers curved round to dig into his ass, to wrap around Steve's dick, and Steve's next groan sounds almost pained. "Yeah, that's right, Steve. You-- you getting close?"

Steve's head is bowed, hair curled against his forehead with sweat, shuddering as he works himself up and down Sam's dick, but he nods frantically when Sam speaks, manages to grind out, "Yes, please, harder, I'm almost there--" and Sam's hips jerk upwards, hard, a Pavlovian reaction in response to Steve's need, but he guesses that it's enough because Steve lets out a low groan and comes all over Sam's hand, Sam's stomach, up to Sam's chest, whimpering as Sam fucks him through it and gets in a good half dozen more thrusts before he gives it up himself.

The world fuzzes out for a moment, Sam floating away on a sea of endorphins, but it can't have been for too long because when he comes back to himself, Steve is still perched in his lap panting, his dick still snug inside. He lifts a hand, and it takes him two tries before he's able to land a hit on Steve's flank. "Come on, Captain Stamina," he says, and his words run into each other, edges blurred together with the way lingering pleasure leaves him loose-limbed and boneless. "You're gonna have to be the one to move here."

Steve makes a soft contented sound, the rise and fall of his flushed chest back to normal now, and rises slightly to let Sam's dick slide out in a long burr of pleasure. Steve disposes of the condom, landing it five feet away in the trash with barely a look, and then settles himself back down onto Sam's lap, practically glowing with lazy satisfaction and smug contentedness. 

Sam exhales, laughing a little, breathing still coming a little hard, and says, "That good, huh?" Steve's looking a little debauched anyway -- hair spiky with sweat and the way he'd been tugging on it, skin hot and flushed and streaked with sweat and come, lips and nipples the same shade of abused red -- and the dumb macho part of him is feeling pretty good about that, a mental pat on the back for a job well done.

Steve, the asshole that he is, shrugs a little and says, "I'd give it an eight," lips twitching with the urge to laugh, and Sam shoves him away, outraged.

"An _eight_?"

"Out of ten," Steve says, earnestly, like that somehow absolves him.

Sam punches him in his stupid, muscled bicep. "Eight out of ten my ass, I gave you _three_ orgasms." 

Steve stretches languidly as though he hasn't just doomed himself to nothing but him and his left hand for the rest of forever, and says "Well, it could have been four so there's definitely room for improvement."

Sam's gaze trails down to where Steve's dick is apparently backing up his words, and raises his eyebrows, impressed.

"Four, huh?" he says, searching out the lube from where he had discarded it earlier and slapping it to Steve's chest. "In that case, you're up, kid." He lies back on the bed, legs spread, and hooks a knee up to his chest, enjoying Steve's dumbfounded expression, his renewed flush and dilated pupils.

"Give it your best shot," he continues as Steve crawls between his legs, squeezing lube out onto his fingers, and Sam thumbs at his nipples, gasping as warmth pools in his stomach. "I'll be giving bonus points for creativity."

Like he said, living the superhero lifestyle is great and Sam definitely wouldn't change it for the world.


End file.
